


you leave with the tide (i can't stop you)

by aapicula



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergent, DCRB 2020, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 9ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aapicula/pseuds/aapicula
Summary: While on a hunt, Dean is struck by a spell that erases him from the universe. Time is running out, and unless Team Free Will can find a solution, Dean will fade- forever.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102
Collections: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2020





	you leave with the tide (i can't stop you)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang. I claimed the art from the wonderful LeafZelindor with the prompt "Dean is fading".
> 
> Check out the art masterpost here!  
> https://leafzelindor.tumblr.com/post/613784576594264064/

When Sam and Dean came to Wyoming, they were looking for a chupacabra, maybe a rogue werewolf. They certainly weren’t looking for a witch, and they were far from prepared to deal with a whole coven. Now, two days later, they’ve killed three. The two that remain, as luck would have it, currently have the brothers pinned to a wall.

_It should have been a normal case_.

Were he _not_ pinned to a wall, Dean might have laughed. Since when have any of their cases been _normal?_ His gaze cuts across the room to Sam, and his brother is in a similar situation, struggling against the invisible bonds cast by the younger sister, a blonde witch named Siobhan.

The Foleys are a Celtic coven, and an old one, according to Rowena. They’ve been around for centuries, and had come over from Ireland to the states more than a hundred years ago. Like most covens, they’re a solitary one, breeding powerful magic into the family line. The Foley’s magic is concentrated into a deer-bone talisman, Sam and Dean had figured out, one that the matriarch of the coven wears. It’s an intricately carved pendant inlaid with rubies, and the key to overcoming the coven’s power lies in destroying the talisman. 

Dean figures it’s par the course for him that it’s the eldest sister Mairead, and her five-hundred year old talisman, that currently has him against the wall and is choking him- and not in the fun way.

“You Hunters,” the witch hisses, disdain dripping from every lilting syllable. “You can never just leave us alone, can you?”

“Not when you’re killing the people in this town, we can’t.” He’s pleased that even with the invisible hand wrapped around his throat, his voice doesn’t waver. It’d be great if he could breathe, though.

“Insignificant cretins!” Her voice would be pleasant were it not filled with hatred. And- _ugh-_ directed right at his face “What do a few lives matter in the face of our power?”.

“Lady, I hate to break it to you, but you have terrible breath.”

Like many things Dean has said in his life, these are the wrong words. The invisible hands around him tighten, and Dean gasps as black spots dance in his periphery. He strains against his bonds, gasping for air. There’s a crash and a scream from somewhere off to his left.

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam charges forward and full-body tackles the Mairead. He’s covered in blood and Dean panics momentarily before he realizes it isn’t Sam’s. There’s a crumpled body in the corner, the bright silver of an angel blade hilt sticking out at a sickening angle. He silently thanks Sam and Cas’ idea of imbuing the angel blades with several different spells- a witch-killing one among them.

Sam grapples with Mairead for a moment. He doesn’t stand a chance against the witch, but it’s enough to knock her concentration off. Dean falls to the ground in an undignified heap, sucking in air by the mouthful.

“S-Sam,” he gasps out, staggering to his feet. His brother and the witch are grappling for the talisman, which at some point had been torn from her neck. He leaps forward and grabs it, pulling it close to his chest before the witch can snatch it from him. It only takes a few words, a simple unbinding spell, and the amulet is crumbling to pieces in his hands, deep violet smoke curling around the shards. He shoots her a triumphant grin, but instead of the rancor he expected, she starts laughing, an ugly, hateful noise that sends a shiver up his spine.

“You’ll regret that.”

“You brothers and sisters are dead. We’ve destroyed your amulet. You’re powerless.” Dean’s voice is cold, and he ignores Sam’s worried glance.

The humor on her face falters for a moment, and a flicker of rage shines through. “It’s fitting, then, that this fate will befall you.” She flicks her wrist and the remains of the talisman fly from Dean’s fingers and into her outstretched hand. “You will soon learn, Dean Winchester, what it means to be truly _powerless._ ” Her lips curve in a smile, and before Dean can react, he’s blasted off his feet and blinded by purple light.

There’s a shout, he can hear chanting, then nothing.

Darkness.

\--

He comes to with a start, sitting up abruptly before he can quite register that perhaps he should stay still a moment. Sam is at his side, hand on his shoulder and a worried furrow between his eyebrows.

“Whoa, whoa, easy Dean,” he says soothingly, crouching next to his older brother. Dean shakes his head, trying to clear the sawdust, and looks up at Sam.

“Th’ hell happened?”

“Dunno. You must have hit your head ,but you were only out for a few seconds. How are you feeling?” He helps Dean stand, and Dean takes quick stock of his appendages. It feels as though he’d been out a lot longer than that, but with no reason to doubt Sam, he just shrugs.

“Seems like I’m in one piece. Everything taken care of?” He nods to the bloodstained carpet where Mairead had stood. He has no idea what Sam did, but from what he can tell, their witch situation is taken care of. Sam nods, eyes not leaving Dean. 

“You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah. Let’s just go back to the motel and crash.”

Sam agrees, and they trudge back to the car, counting their lucky stars that they’d come out of yet another hunt relatively unscathed. He shoots a quick text to Cas before he revs the engine, and lets him know that everything is taken care of. The angel is back at the bunker, in case Mary or any of the British Men of Letters show up.

Cas is still recovering from the mad dog spell that Rowena cast, and Dean had felt badly about leaving for the hunt, regardless of how urgent the matter. Cas, however, had assured him that he’s in his room with Sam’s DVD player. So they’d gone, but Dean makes sure to keep Cas informed with their progress on the hunt.

They don’t talk beyond cursory chatter on the drive back, both of them exhausted and sore from the fight. He stops at a burger joint a few blocks away from the motel, content with something cheesy and greasy before he flops facedown for the evening.

He’s waiting at the counter, trying to get the attention of the waitress, and having no luck. 

“Miss? Ma’am?” She doesn’t even turn, and her eyes slide past him to take the order of the young couple to his left. Annoyed, he knocks on the linoleum. “Hello, can I get some service here?”

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam slides into the stool next to him and shoots him a dirty look. “I know you’re hungry, but you don’t need to be an asshole.”

“I wasn’t trying to be! She kept ignoring me. It’s like I’m not even here.” He shoots another look at the waitress - Amanda - as she catches Sam’s eye.

“Hey there!. Sorry about that wait. What can I get started for ya?” She doesn’t glance in Dean’s direction, which only stokes his irritation further.

“Hi Amanda. We’d like a double bacon cheeseburger combo, no pickles, with a Coke.” Sam peruses the menu for a moment before settling on something for himself. “And a turkey burger, extra provolone. With sweet potato fries, please.”

Amanda jots down the order and turns towards the kitchen. Sam shoots Dean another dirty look.

“It’s because I wasn’t an asshole.”

“I wasn’t being an asshole!”

“Then why’d she take my order and refuse to look at you?”

“....Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

***

It isn’t until they’re back at the motel that things start to get weird.

They eat their burgers in relative silence, check in with Cas, and get ready for the evening. Dean has his laptop out to log the details of the case, and in between typing, he’s telling Sam about his run-in with Mairead and Siobhan. Not for the first time, he’s grateful that Sam and Charlie had put their heads together to figure out a remote backup system for their case files. Anything Dean saves will be automatically uploaded to the bunker’s storage as soon as they get back, and is immediately accessible to anyone on their network. It makes streamlining the cases much easier, and has cut down significantly on the amount of research they have to do on new cases.

“Dude, she was _pissed_. You should have seen it. She knew we had her cornered, but that just made her angrier.” Dean chuckles as he chews a leftover fry. Sam hums noncommittally, his head buried in a book. “I wish you coulda seen it, man. She was workin’ on a spell, trying to zap me or whatever, and I managed to chuck this ugly-ass statue at her. Good thing you were there next time she got me, otherwise I’d have been shit outta luck.”

Sam still isn’t paying him any attention, engrossed in his book. Dean rolls his eyes and sets his laptop aside before crossing to the other side of the motel room and plonking in the chair next to Sam. “What’s got you so interested, nerd? Is it another book on Norwegian folk myth? Because we debunked tha--hey!”

Nose still buried in his book, Sam rises from the table and crosses to his bed. He doesn’t acknowledge Dean at all, not even to throw him a bitchface at Dean’s ribbing.

“Sammy, what the hell?” Dean stands, not bothering to push the chair in, and stalks after Sam. “I was _talking_ to you, you dick!”

Sam looks up from his book, startled. “Hey! Dean, what’s up?”

“Very funny, bitch, now will you let me finish my story?”

Sam raises his eyebrows, seemingly genuine confusion alighting his features. “What are you talking about?” He cocks his head to the side, and Dean chuckles.

“Nice try. I was talking to you about the case, and when I turned around you were in here reading a book! I know you’re exhausted, but we need to make sure those witches are taken care of for good.” He takes a swig of room-temperature beer and grimaces before focusing his attention back on Sam. But instead of the smirk he expects his little brother to be wearing, Sam is instead looking at him with cautious alarm.

“Dean...what are you talking about?” Sam sets the book down carefully, and focuses his entire attention on Dean. “We haven’t talked since we got back to the hotel. And what witches? We haven’t had a lead on a coven in months.”

_What?_ “Sammy...what did we just fight?”

“A chupacabra. An old one. It outgrew its taste for cattle and livestock, and moved onto the locals.” There was a crease between Sam’s eyebrows. “But Dean...you know this. We just did this. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, Sam, but we’re remembering today very differently.”

***

They make it back to the bunker in record time, but it becomes clear in the thirteen hour trip that things are very, very wrong. Twice when Sam was driving, he had pulled off to the side of the road to call Cas to see if he had any leads on a case, since Sam was ‘in the area’. And Dean has no idea what’s going on, but he swears there’s an extra beat of silence before Cas recognizes his voice.

He drives the rest of the way home, and convinces Sam to call Rowena. The witch agrees to meet them at the bunker, but naturally, they now owe her a ‘very large favor.’

Dean can’t stop his sigh of relief as they cross the threshold into the bunker, but the feeling is short-lived when Cas enters the room. His eyes slide past Dean and settle on Sam. “How was the chupacabra?”

“Fine, it was good. We--” Sam stops himself, brow creasing, and he looks at Dean. “That isn’t right, is it?”

“Nope.” He glances at Cas, who has finally turned towards him. “It was a witch, Cas, and we think she got me with a spell. Rowena’s on her way.”

Cas cocks his head to the side for a moment, lips pursed in confusion. He looked at Dean with narrowed eyes. It’s almost as if--

“Cas, hey man, what’s up?”

The angel shakes his head, squinting, and Dean’s breath hitches. Cas doesn’t recognize him. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“It’s Dean, Cas.” Sam’s words are careful and uncertain, and something cold settles in Dean’s stomach.

“I’m...I’m your best friend, Cas.” The tiny tremor in his voice seems to clear Cas’ confusion, for he blinks and shakes his head slightly.

“Oh! Dean, I’m so sorry. I-” he cuts himself off, looking puzzled. “I don’t know what happened.”

Dean clears his throat, trying not to let the others see how disturbed he is. “S’fine, Cas. It’s happening to Sam, too. We need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“You said Rowena is coming to help? Are you sure she’s going to _help_?” The scowl on Cas’ face makes Dean feel worse. Cas still hasn’t recovered from the spell Rowena had cast on him, and now Dean’s invited her into the bunker. While he hadn’t wanted to, whatever is happening to him and Sam and Cas was definitely caused by a witch, and Rowena is their best resource.

“I don’t know, but she’s the only witch we know that probably doesn’t want us dead. Probably.” Dean slings his bag over his shoulder and turns the corner to go to his room. “I’m gonna dump my stuff and grab a shower, we’ve been across half the country in less than a day.”

He has every intention of crashing in his room for a few hours too, but as soon as the door shuts behind him, he’s struck with a wave of dizziness that brings him to his knees.

Head in his hands, Dean waits for the inevitable nausea to pass. He opens his eyes slowly, and gasps at the sight before him. His hands are...see-through isn’t quite the right word for it, but he’s definitely not opaque. The edges of his fingers are shimmering, and as he wiggles them, the effect worsens.

All thoughts of relaxing for a few hours go out the window, and he wrenches the door to his room open. “ _Sam! Cas!”_

He jogs back towards the war room, still shaking his hands. Getting closer to his brother and his friend seems to help, but he’ll be damned if he can figure out why.

Two heads look up in alarm as he approaches. “Dean, what happened?” Sam crosses the room in three giant strides, and finally Dean feels normal.

“I don’t know. It was like...when I got to my room, I got really dizzy and then my fingers got all shimmery?” He shrugs, uncertain how to describe it. “It was really weird, but it’s gone now.”

Sam nods and inspects Dean’s hands closely. “Yeah, they look normal. But has that happened before?” Dean shakes his head.

“Nope, that’s the first time. Far as I know. I could be forgetting things too, I guess.”

“You should try to stay with one of us, Dean,” Cas pipes up, still bent over the books at the map table. His eyes are troubled. “If this happens again, one of us should be there.”

“I agree with Cas, Dean,” Sam says placatingly, knowing that Dean will object to the concept of a _baby-sitter_ , of all things. “We want to see exactly what’s happening.”

He doesn’t like it, but they’re right. “Fine,” he grumbles, crossing his arms petulantly. “But neither one of you are following me into the shower.”

***

“So get this.” Sam looks up from his laptop, eyes bright with excitement. It’s been two days since they returned to the bunker, and Dean has spent the majority of his time in either Sam or Cas’ presence, except for when he’s sleeping. Rowena had shown up the day before, and they immediately got to work researching everything they could find about vanishing spells, forgetfulness hexes, and disappearing curses.

They’re forgetting him with greater frequency, and it’s taking longer for him to remind them who he is. Earlier that morning, Sam had taken some time to write out sticky notes, reminding all three of them that Dean is there, Dean is Sam’s brother, Dean _is_. They haven’t had any luck so far in the research, but Sam is deep in a thick tome and has his laptop open to rune translations, so Dean hopes he’s struck some gold.

“I think I found the spell they used on you. It’s Irish, and it’s basically a curse to bend the rules of reality. ‘ _Déanfaidh an domhan dearmad ort’ -_ that literally translates to ‘the world will forget you.’” As he chatters, Rowena’s head pops up from her own spellbook, and she starts to smile slowly.

“That would make sense. Well-spotted, Samuel!” She peers over his shoulder at the book and nods in agreement. “I think you’re right. This spell would do what you say is happening to Dean. Nasty bit of work, that.”

Dean leans against the edge of the table and peers at the rune translations on Sam’s laptop. “So they’re rewriting history?” It’s nice to have an answer, but damn, he’d have preferred something other than that.

“Sort of, yeah. It plucks out a thread of reality and...kind of unravels it, I guess. And in this instance, that thread is you.” The bright excitement in Sam’s eyes dulls for a second. “And that’s...that’s why we keep forgetting you.” He looks down at his computer again, at the post-it note reminding him that Dean exists. Dean knows he’s thinking of the sticky notes that are scattered all over the bunker, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to scream.

“How do we stop it? How do we stop me from...unraveling, or whatever?” 

“I dunno. This is really complex, really old magic, Dean. Even Rowena doesn’t know how to fully translate the runes. I had to cross-reference four different grimoires.” He stands suddenly, and wraps his arms around Dean, pulling him in for a tight hug. “But we _will_ figure this out. I’m not letting you go. ‘Specially not for something stupid like this.”

Sam’s grip is strong, and for a moment, Dean lets himself be reminded that he’s _here_ , that he’s still real. “Thanks, Sammy.”

***

They don’t figure it out. 

Nearly a week goes by, and they make no progress. Eventually Sam, Rowena, and Cas all begin to forget about Dean, even when he’s in the room with them. He stops sleeping in his room by himself, instead opting for catnaps at the table in the library. He can feel himself start to slip away when no one else is around, and try as he might to stay calm, the feeling terrifies him.

Cas, of course, notices immediately that Dean refuses carte blanche to be alone, and silently volunteers to be his shadow. It’s a relief for both of them, honestly. But it makes the times Cas forgets that much harder to bear. Just last night, they’d all been clustered around the table, stacked high with books and day-old pizza.

“What if we tried to hide him from the universe itself?” Rowena’s voice was soft as she perused through the _Petit Albert_ , one of the grimoires she’d lugged along to help them. “If we made Dean a Hand of Glory, maybe he’d- oh, you know…” She trailed off, and Dean knew she’d forgotten why she was talking about making Dean invisible. But her silence didn’t hurt as much as Cas’ next words.

“Who’s Dean?” Cas squinted at Rowena, as though this Dean were someone familiar that he couldn’t quite place. He was holding another book on Occult philosophy in his hands and looked down at that, confused as well. Dean couldn’t stop the small sound of anguish that escaped his lips.

“Cas, I’m right here, buddy.” Cas blinked, his frown relaxed, and he met Dean’s gaze. Dean bit the inside of his cheek, hurt and despair washing through him even as the confusion dissipated from Cas’ eyes.

“Oh, Dean, I-I’m so sorry.” Cas glanced down at the table, at the bright pink sticky note (“Dean is your best friend!”) and then back up at him. “I didn’t mean to.”

“S’fine, Cas,” Dean muttered, furious at how his eyes were burning. “S’not your fault.” He stood, suddenly desperate for some air. “I’m gonna go sit outside for a second, yeah? Don’t forget about me while I’m gone.” He meant for the words to be a joke, but they came out a touch too desperate, just a little too sincere. He let it fall flat and turned his back on the table, hurrying up the stairs and into the sunlight.

He knows it’s stupid. The more he’s alone, without the three people left in the universe who remember him, he’s fading. He can feel it. When he steps into the sunlight, he can almost see it- a faint ripple along his periphery. He’s going to disappear, and no one is going to remember him. Not Sam, not Rowena, not Cas…

The thought of them going on with their lives as though he’d never existed is what drives him to his knees. His breath is coming in harsh gasps, and he’s clenching the fabric of his jeans until his knuckles are white. The scrape of the material and the pressure in his joints distracts him from the panic, reminds him that there’s something real and tangible still left that he can feel.

And he feels when Cas crouches next to him, hand on his left shoulder. “Breathe, Dean,” he murmurs into his ear, voice soft and pitched only for him, even though there’s no one else to hear it. “It’s going to be all right.”

“It’s not,” he pants harshly, trying to suck in enough oxygen past the panic in his throat. “You’re gonna forget me, Sam’s gonna forget me. Cas, I can’t-” he breaks off and clutches Cas’ wrist. “I never thought I was gonna die like this.”

A pained sound comes from Cas’ throat, and the angel sinks down more firmly next to him. “I _will not_ forget you, Dean,” he begins, and it only takes a moment for the scene in the library to register. “Even if I can’t remember you, my grace will.” He pauses for a moment, jaw tight. “I’ve said it before, Dean. My grace knows you, it’s what helped my pull you out of hell. It _will_ remember you.” Dean chuckles at that, a harsh, strident sound that’s laden with panic.

“Fat lot of good that’s gonna do me, Cas. What’s gonna happen when I fade away?” Cas doesn’t answer; his grip on Dean’s shoulder tightens. It might’ve been painful, but Dean leans into the grounding touch. He takes several deep breaths, trying to fake the calm facade that’s been cracking since he was hit with the spell. “I don’t know how to explain it, Cas, but it’s like...it’s like when no one is here, I just s-” He pauses for a moment to take another breath. It still comes out shaky. “S’like I stop existing. It’s been happening more and more, but always when I’m alone.”

“Then I will never, _never_ leave you alone.” Cas’ voice is strained. The lines of his body are hard, and Dean can almost see the tension radiating off of him. He resists the urge to lean towards him, to avail himself of Cas’ warmth- but barely. 

“I’m really scared, Cas.”

The words leave his lips unbidden, and he winces. Could he possibly have sounded more pathetic? But Cas doesn’t laugh. He simply moves closer to Dean, until they’re pressed together shoulder to knee. Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and he swallows heavily. This is the closest they’ve ever been, and he’s nearly vibrating with-- well, not desire, really. This isn’t the time or place for that. But with the _need_ , raw and unyielding, to be close to Cas. To press himself into Cas’ arms and hide there until everything is all right again.

As usual, he resists the urge.

“I’m afraid too. I’m afraid that I’m going to forget you, and I don’t know how to bring you back this time.”

_This time_. Once upon a time, Castiel brought him back from Hell. He raised Dean from the dead, rebuilt his body, and breathed life back into him. Now, he can barely remember who Dean is.

For his own sake, his own _sanity_ , Dean can’t dwell on that thought.

One more deep breath, and then another, and Dean is feeling marginally normal again. He gives Cas a shaky, unconvincing smile and pulls back to stand.

“We should get back. We’ve got work to do.”

***

It ends two days later.

Rowena has all but forgotten he exists, and Sam and Cas are getting worse. Dean has resorted to throwing things to get their attention, has set aside a stack of “unimportant” books for the task. Twice now, Cas hasn’t recognized him even after Dean reminding him repeatedly who he is, and Dean won’t pretend that doesn’t drive a knife through his heart.

And it’s worse when Sam looks at him, eyes devoid of emotion or caring. He’s not doing research to save Dean anymore, can’t keep Dean in his thoughts long enough to pick up a damn book, but instead is looking for a case. His shaggy hair falls forward as he bends over his laptop, lips moving silently as he scans the headlines for anything supernatural.

Dean wants to shake him, to yell and scream and beg for his little brother to look at him, to fucking _see_ him. But suddenly, he can’t seem to move.

He looks down, and his heart leaps into his throat. He’s shimmering again, the edges of his body see-through, and the wispiness is traveling through him. It doesn’t stop. This is it; he’s going to disappear. “ _Cas! Sammy!”_

Something in his voice must have cut through the haze, and he almost sobs with relief when they both look at him with no trace of confusion.

“Dean! Dean, no no no no no.” Sam’s eyes are wild and he seizes Dean’s shoulders. “No, it’s gonna be okay, Dean, we’re gonna fix this.” His voice is shaking, though, and he doesn’t try to stop the tears that spill over his lashes. “I can’t lose you, Dean, please.”

“Sammy, don’t forget me please, don’t forget me.” He’s crying too, he realizes, and he’s clutching at both Cas and Sam, holding them as close as he can as the shimmering overtakes him.

“We _will_ figure this out, Dean.” Cas’ eyes are wide as he searches Dean’s gaze. “I swear to you, I’ll bring you back.”

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. He tries again, and again, and nothing happens. He’s muted and his limbs are increasingly heavy, movement sluggish.

He wants to scream, wants to rage and curse and yell. But he’s immobilized, stuck in the gap between realities, and he can’t do anything. Then Cas’ arms are around him, and he focuses all of his attention on staying solid, on something material for Cas to hold. Cas still can’t hear him, can barely see him, but for just a moment, he’s safe.

It ends too soon. With one last look into anguished blue eyes, Dean feels himself being pulled backward, into the veil.

_“Dean, no!”_

He falls.

Everything is silent for a moment. Sam and Cas are breathing heavily, tears tracking down both of their faces and an empty room in front of them. Distantly, they can hear Rowena moving around the library, humming to herself as she searches for god knows what.

Their expressions clear.

“So get this.” Sam turns to the computer and tilts the screen towards Cas, who skims the article while Sam speaks. “There’s a couple outside San Antonio who were found with their guts ripped out. Left in the middle of the woods, no innards.”

“Werewolf?”

“Don’t think so. Hearts are intact. We can rule out a chupacabra, too,” Sam adds, before Cas can speak again. “There was blood all over the crime scene.” He pulls up another site, something more official looking, and scrolls until he finds a set of photographs. “I hacked into the county sheriff’s office and found the photos from the scene. It’s definitely our kind of weird, maybe a rugaru?”

Cas nods. “Their stomachs look gnawed on, so a rugaru is a good guess. When do we leave?”

****

It’s the end of his first week in the veil, and Dean has decided that he would rather be dead. He can see Sam, can see Cas, but he can’t reach out to them. He can’t even move objects the way a ghost would be able to. He can only watch, can only see his brother and his best friend go on with their lives without even noticing that Dean was gone. Because Dean had never even existed.

It’s the end of March, two weeks after Dean vanishes, that Sam and Cas flesh out the rugaru. They stomp back into the bunker, bags slung over their shoulders and wide, victorious smiles on their faces, and Dean can’t help but hate them, just a little bit.

He’s tried screaming, he’s tried raging against the walls that separate the two realities. He’s tried leaving the bunker on his own to go find a way to bring himself back, but he can’t seem to pass through the walls. The warding in the bunker is extensive, and he can only guess that it’s keeping him here, somehow. He’s tried praying to Cas, to God, to anyone who might be able to hear him, but there’s nothing. No one can hear him. He’s even begged to anyone, any entity in this realm who might send him to Heaven or Hell or anywhere other than here. Silence.

Five weeks in, several things start to happen. Dean has resorted to talking to himself, narrating the events in Sam and Cas’ lives to keep himself from going insane.

“I mean, if I’m doing this, I’m already insane, aren’t I?” The veil doesn’t answer.

Through his anger and hopelessness, a very small part of Dean is fiercely proud of Sam and Cas. They’ve been unusually intent on finding hunts. It hurts like hell to be left alone in the bunker, and he worries himself sick until they come back, but they’ve been on more than half a dozen hunts in the last month.

He stays with Cas more often. Cas doesn’t sleep much, and he feels less creepy than watching Sam do whatever he does when he’s alone. Cas reads a lot, he learns. He watches a lot of television, shows that they used to watch together, and he can still chuckle when Cas tilts his head at a joke he doesn’t understand.

It’s a Tuesday. Sam is asleep already, and Cas is holed up in the media room watching an episode of _The Office_ on Netflix. Cas is unusually enamored with the show. Dean is sure half the jokes flew over Ca’ head, though occasionally something he’ll give the screen a small, lopsided grin.

It’s happening now, that stupid, soft smile. Dwight is on-screen, setting the office on fire, and Cas’ eyes are dancing with silent mirth. He’s seen this scene before, it’s one of Dean’s favorites, but now all he can look at is Cas.

“I miss you.”

He isn’t aware that he’s said anything for a moment, his attention fixed resolutely on Cas. When he processes what he’s said, the words start to flow out of him and he can’t stop it. “Cas, I know you can’t see me or hear me. Hell, you don’t even remember me, do you? But I’m here, Cas, I’m right here and I’m not leaving you.” There’s a thin, desperate edge to his voice, and he drops down on his knees in front of Cas. He can’t touch him, can’t feel the fabric of the trenchcoat under his fingertips, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to grab Cas’ knee anyway.

“I don’t know how to get out of here, Cas. I’ve tried praying and I’ve tried figuring out how to get myself out of here, but I don’t know what to _do,_ Cas, I can’t do this on my own.” Tears blur his vision and he looks down, focusing on the fabric of the couch. “I can’t do this without you.”

He can’t speak after that, and takes a few breaths to compose himself. He’s startled, however, when he hears a choked sob from above him.

When he looks up, he sees a pair of blue eyes, wet with tears, staring straight through him.

“Cas, what’s the matter?!” Cas doesn’t react, of course, can’t see or hear him, and even if he _could_ he wouldn’t recognize Dean. But that doesn’t stop the panic from rising in his chest, the gnawing feeling at seeing Cas so upset.

For his part, Cas mostly looks confused. He swipes at a tear on his cheek, then looks at his fingers quizzically. His bottom lip trembles slightly, and he seems to think for a moment before he takes a slow, careful breath in.

He’s mimicking an action he’s seen Dean do countless times to calm himself down, and it seems to work, at least marginally. Cas still looks bewildered, his eyes red-rimmed, but he’s more calm.

_My grace will remember you_.

The words echo back to him, distant but clear as a bell. All at once, hope blooms in his chest. He inches closer; if he were solid, he’d be pressed against Cas. “Castiel, hear me,” he speaks aloud, voice raised to an almost shout. “Cas, please, hear me? I need you.”

A soft cry escapes Cas’ throat, and he seems to curl in on himself, hand over his eyes. “Stop, please.” The words are whispered, but Dean jerks as if it were a shout. His fingers twitch, fighting the urge to reach out. His mouth snaps closed with an audible _click,_ and he exhales roughly.

Slowly, Castiel seems to calm down. The tiny, rough cries slow, then stop, and he wipes at his face roughly. He still looks utterly perplexed, and Dean knows that Cas didn’t hear him, has no idea what just happened. But maybe it was enough.

Cas stands, and Dean rises with him. He doesn’t dare pray aloud again, afraid to upset Cas further, but he can’t stop himself from raising his hand to try and brush Cas’ tears away. _I’m sorry_ , he thinks. _But I have to try again. I have to get back._

***

By the end of the week, Dean has prayed to Cas twice more with similar results. Cas hasn’t acknowledged his presence in any way, but Dean guesses that Cas’ grace can feel him. And while it’s hopeful information, Dean can’t stop the sickening guilt that churns through his stomach at the sight of Cas’ tears. He apologizes to his friend constantly, begging his forgiveness, but he has to press on. He can’t go on like this.

Sam and Cas are sitting at the table in the bunker’s kitchen, both looking exhausted. “I don’t know what it is, Sam,” Cas murmurs, staring deeply down into his cup of coffee. “And I don’t know how to stop it. My grace...it’s in agony.”

The break in Cas’ voice nearly brings Dean to his knees. “M’sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

“What could it mean? Is there something your grace can perceive that we might not be able to see?” Sam’s brow is furrowed. Dean knows he hasn’t been sleeping well between worrying about Cas and researching cases, and he’s already on his fourth cup of coffee this morning. 

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine what it would be, unless…” Cas trailed off, and Dean’s heart leaps.

“Unless what?” He and Sam speak at the same time, and he can’t help but chuckle sadly.

“Unless there’s something I _can’t_ remember? Something that’s being kept from us?” Cas sits up a little straighter, eyes suddenly focused in concentration. “My grace might be able to sense a presence that you or I can’t, especially if they’re someone close to me.”

“Who could be that important?”

By now, Dean’s heart is beating so quickly he’s afraid it’s going to beat out of his non-corporeal chest. He ignores the sting that accompanies Sam’s words, and drops to his knees as close as he can get to Cas.

“Castiel, hear me,” he whispers fervently, squeezing his eyes closed and clenching his fists. “It’s me, Cas, I’m trying to get you to hear me but I can’t. Please, you’ve gotta hear me buddy.”

He knows he’s successful when he hears a sharp intake of breath. Cas is bent over, with a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table. Sam is at his side in an instant. Dean keeps praying, hating himself, silently begging for Cas to realize he’s there.

“Cas, hey hey hey, what’s wrong, man?” Cas shakes his head violently, concentrating hard even as the tears leave wet tracks down his face.

“It’s there again, Sam. My grace, it’s--” he breaks off as his voice gives out, and his head jerks up sharply.

Blue eyes meet Dean’s and it’s as though a current of electricity has passed through his body. _Cas can see him._ Breath caught in his throat, Dean lunges forward, intent on flinging his arms around Cas, but it’s over too quickly. After only a split second, Cas’ eyes lose focus and he’s staring through Dean before the hunter can even stand up straight. But he saw enough.

“Who’s there?” Cas is on his feet, stalking towards, then directly through, where Dean is standing. “There was someone here, Sam.”

His brother has the Beretta from under the kitchen table up and the safety off before Cas is even done talking. “Where? Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Cas murmurs, staring into the distance again. “I didn’t recognize him.” _Ouch_.

“Where is he now?” Sam turns in a slow circle, gun at the ready. 

“I can’t see him anymore. My grace is…” Cas trails off, looking down at the floor. “It’s crying out.”

Dean winces. “Sorry, Cas.”

Sam looks at Cas, concern etched plainly on his features. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know, Sam.” Cas clears his throat. “But at least we have some more information. I don’t know who this is, or why this is happening, but we need to figure it out.”

Sam nods once. “Should I call Rowena? It might be some kind of spell.”

“I think that might be wise.”

***

It’s safe to say that Dean has never been so happy to see Rowena, though he’s grateful he doesn’t have to swallow his pride and tell her that. She shows up with an armful of books and a surprisingly somber attitude, at least for her.

“It seems you’ve got some gremlins in your grace?” Dean makes a face and the implication that he’s a _gremlin_ of all things, but he can’t deny its accuracy.

“I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like…” Cas flounders for a bit, searching for the right words. “It’s like someone is there, but I can’t see them or hear them, but my grace knows they’re there.”

“Cas saw him,” Sam supplies. “In the kitchen yesterday, he saw him for just a second. Could it be a ghost?”

“A ghost that’s somehow attached to my grace? I don’t think that’s it.” Cas helps Rowena set her books on the table, a few grimoires Dean hasn’t seen, and all manner of scripts on Dark Magick. Dean doesn’t like them, doesn’t like having them in the bunker, but desperate times. Sam feels the same, judging by the uncomfortable look on his face, but his younger brother thankfully doesn’t say anything. If it gets him out of this mess, then Dean is willing to make a deal with Death himself (not that Death answered his cries for help).

The three of them get to work right away, pouring through the different books and shooting out theories. None of them sound right, though it’s not like Dean knows anything about grace or what’s beyond the veil.

The hours pass, and he can tell they’re getting frustrated with their lack of progress. He’s antsy as well, having to settle himself with reading over their shoulders and trying ineffectually to pick up a book and help with the research. Cas shifts in his seat, and Dean moves to stand next to him, silently apologizing for what he’s about to do.

“Cas, buddy, you’ve gotta hear me,” he whispers, bending down so that his lips would be brushing against Cas’ ear. “I need your help, Cas.”

The angel reacts as if he’d been shocked. He clenches the book in his hands tightly enough that the pages start to tear, and a pained noise is choked from his throat. “ _Dean_.”

Dean’s heart leaps. “That’s it! Cas, that’s it buddy, I’m right here, you’ve gotta hear me. Cas, please you’ve gotta get me out of here. I can’t get out of here without you.” His words are hoarse and desperate, and he wants more than anything to grab onto Cas and hold on tight.

“Cas, who’s that? Who’s Dean?” Sam’s voice is tight, and Dan whips his head to look at his brother. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know, Sam,” Cas pants. “He’s...he’s trapped.”

“Where is he trapped, Cas?” Rowena is crouching down next to Cas, her hand on his arm. “Is he in another dimension?”

Cas shakes his head in the affirmative, and Dean nearly pumps his fist in victory. They’re going to find him. He’s gonna come home.

The confirmation spurs Rowena into action, and she hurriedly opens one of the older spell books she brought with her. Dean grimaces when he sees it’s indeed a book of Dark Magick, but he can’t let himself worry about that now. Not when they’re this close.

“I have a spell here,” she murmurs as she flips through the pages. “To reveal something bound to an angel’s grace.” She makes a triumphant noise and turns the book to show them the spell. “I’m going to need a bit of your grace, dearie.”

Cas is rightfully skeptical. Dean is downright scared. “Oh, hell no,” he growls, moving towards the book and forgetting for a moment how ineffectual his rage is. “Cas, no. You’re not using any of your grace.”

“Rowena.” It’s Sam who speaks, voice modulated carefully. “Is that safe? What do you need it for?”

The redheaded witch pouts. “I’m insulted, Samuel. You think I’d use his grace for my own gain?”

“Yes.” Dean barks. No one else speaks. They don’t need to. Rowena rolls her eyes.

“ _Fine._ I need his grace so the spell can identify what it’s latching onto. No grace, no location.” She turns to fix her grace on Cas. “You want this to stop, don’t you, Castiel? I know how much this must be hurting you.” Dean shifts uncomfortably and ducks his head.

“I...I need to know,” he says, throwing Sam an apologetic glance. “My grace- it’s never felt this way before. I need to know why.”

Cas shakes his right arm slightly, pulling his angel blade from the etheric plane and dropping it into his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he’s sliced a small, shallow path along his neck. His blood is bright red against the brilliance of his grace, and Dean can’t take his eyes off of it. In the blink of an eye, Cas’ wound has healed, and he holds a bit of mist in his hand. Grace. It stays in Cas’ palm for a moment, swirling contentedly, before it brightens.

Dean gasps as the grace makes a beeline for him, stopping just short of his chest. He can hear the faint hum, and his throat tightens with emotion. Cas hadn’t lied- his grace remembers him. It _remembers_ him. 

“Hey, you,” he whispers, lifting a hand to touch the swirling mist. The hum grows louder momentarily, and he chuckles. “I missed you too.”

He looks up. Cas, Sam, and Rowena are staring blankly at the grace. Right- they can’t see him yet. Rowena blinks and raises the book. When she starts speaking, her voice is uncertain.

_“fatum alligatus_

_tenentur in gratia_

_ad nos revelare_

_culus faciem tuam”_

She repeats the spell twice more, the grace swirling more frantically with each passing moment. The light grows and is eventually bright enough that Dean has to shield his eyes from it. Sam does the same, and Rowena had to use the book to block the light. Cas never stops staring.

As suddenly as it began, it’s all over. Rowena has stopped talking, the grace quiets, and the only sound in the room is harsh breathing.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean rubs his eyes, trying to clear the spots away from his vision. He shakes his head slightly and looks up at the rest of the group.

Three sets of eyes are staring at him in shock. Rowena looks dumbfounded. Sam’s eyes are already filling with tears. And _Cas..._

Cas’ eyes are fixed on him, wide and unblinking. Dean is lost.

“Oh.” The angel’s voice is soft, reverent. He takes a cautious step towards Dean, as if he’s afraid Dean will vanish into thin air. “It was you. It was _always_ you. _Dean_.”

Something like a sob works its way up Dean’s throat, and suddenly there are arms around him, pulling him close. He goes willingly, burying his face in Cas’ shoulder, eyes shut tightly to stop the tears burning behind his eyelids. “Cas.”

It’s all he can say before his words are choked off. It’s enough.

“You’re home now, Dean.” Cas’ voice is soothing, and his arms are wrapped securely around Dean. A small voice in the back of his mind silently begs Cas to never let go. The fabric of the trenchcoat is stiff against his cheek, and the soft scratch of stubble against his temple reminds him of how close, oh, how close Cas is.

He’s going to say something. He’s got to. He’s got to tell Cas how much he--

“Ahem.” 

Rowena clears her throat primly, a small smirk on her face. Dean pulls back from Cas and rubs the back of his neck. “Hey, Red.”

“Can’t believe could ever forget you, dear. You’re a major pain in my arse. Should have just left you there.” Her words are glib, but her eyes are light and fond. She pulls him in for a quick hug, which he returns gratefully.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, pulling her close.

“It’s not me you have to thank, Dean.” She pulls away and smoothes the fabric of her dress. “It’s that angel of yours you should be thanking. Without his grace, without your _bond_ , we’d never have gotten you back.”

Cas suddenly blushes fiercely and looks down at the ground. Dean is enamored by the sight and fully intends to explore it further, but first, he has one more person to greet.

Sammy is staring at them with suspiciously wet eyes, and Dean can’t claim that he’s doing any better. “Hey, little brother.” His voice isn’t nearly as strong as he would have liked, but that’s neither here nor there as Sam pulls him into a massive hug. 

“I forgot you.” The words are muffled in Dean’s shoulder.

“S’okay, Sammy.”

It’s really not okay. Sam forgetting him hurt something fierce, but that wasn’t his fault. 

“Welcome home.” Sam pulls away reluctantly, eyes cut to the side as he tries to hide his tears. He sniffs again, then squares his shoulders and glances towards Cas, who has been watching the brothers’ reunion with soft eyes. He clears his throat, and Dean can tell he’s fighting a smile. “I’ll just...go make dinner. I’m glad you’re back, Dean.” He gives Dean a significant and not at all subtle look, and beats a hasty retreat towards the kitchen, Rowena in tow.

They’re alone again. They’ve been alone so many times in the past several weeks, but this time he’s _here._ The reality of the situation hits Dean like a ton of bricks. He fights the urge to run. This is _Cas_ , and Cas deserves better than him running.

“So, you figured out the witch’s spell. Good work.” He shifts from side to side, suddenly nervous without knowing why. 

“Were you able to see everything?” Cas’ voice is casual, but his mouth is tight. He crosses the room and sits down heavily at the table. His hands are folded neatly in front of him, and he stares down at his laced fingers. He’s suddenly tense, guarded, and something in Dean’s heart breaks a little.

“I saw it all, Cas,” he murmurs, rounding the table to close the distance between them. “You were so damn sad, and you didn’t know why. I saw you cry.” The recollection hits him like a ton of bricks. “You were crying for me, Cas, and you couldn’t even remember me. I’m so sorry I hurt you”

Cas finally looks up at him, eyes liquid blue and filled with an emotion Dean doesn’t deserve but can’t get enough of. He dismisses Dean’s apology with a shake of his head. “I knew something was missing. Something important, something that I...cared about deeply.” He breaks off with a blush, and the corners of his lips curl slightly. “I couldn’t remember what, and it was agony, Dean. But I’d go through it again, if it meant saving you.”

The way Cas says his name, slightly unsure and a little bit broken, brings Dean to his knees next to his angel. “M’right here, Cas.” He’s pretty sure his voice has never been this soft. “I came home. To _you_.”

The words he wants to say are stuck in his throat, but maybe they aren’t important right now. Maybe he doesn’t need to say them, because suddenly Cas is back in his arms and his forehead is resting against Dean’s and it feels so _good_ and so _right_ that maybe they don’t need any more words.

Maybe all they need right now is this.


End file.
